


Advice Given Freely

by hjea



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen, Post-Serenity, Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Freeform, Whiskey - Freeform, cranky captains, crazy teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:03:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal and River have a talk in the kitchen; River imparts crazy wisdom and Mal drinks whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advice Given Freely

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 10/21/05.

  
  
  
She glides into the room and takes a seat opposite him at the table. He lifts his mug to her in a silent greeting and takes a deep draught. “She flying smooth, little albatross?”   
  
“Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.”   
  
He sets the mug back down, amusement written across his face for the time being. “What was that?”   
  
She smirks. “You read the poem.”   
  
He considers asking her how she knows that, before rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “I guess I did at that. You got anything illuminating to say; poetically speaking?”   
  
She breathes deeply and a smile stretches across her face as she rises from her chair and spins dreamily across the floor. “I am a river.” She declares, arms reaching up above her head.   
  
He chuckles deeply and takes another long pull of his drink, the liquid sending licking tendrils of heat down to the very soles of his feet. “I guess you are at that.”   
  
With a thump, she sits back down on her chair, grace momentarily forgotten as she collapses in a comfortable sprawl of limbs. “I won’t quench your thirst.” She declares, looking him dead in the eyes.   
  
Caught in the middle of his next drink, he sputters and chokes, suddenly not liking the direction of the conversation.   
  
“Ah, no.” He coughs, wipes whiskey away on his shirtsleeve. “Now I ain’t never, ever, said anything ‘bout-“   
  
She looks at him with confusion, seriousness in her gaze. “I’m not trying to seduce you, Captain.”   
  
“Ah, no.” He says again, shooting a nervous look around the room to make sure no one is there to listen, “I should hope not.” He takes another drink and chokes again. She smiles. He scowls.   
  
“Don’t you laugh at me.”   
  
Her smile grows wider and she lets out a bubbly giggle, something that he’s never heard from her before. “You’re a funny man, not bad at all.”   
  
His face softens. “I’m a mean old captain.”   
  
She laughs again and traces invisible patterns across the table. “Do you want to be happy?” She asks suddenly, eyes down as her fingers fly around.   
  
“ _Shenma_?”   
  
“You haven’t forgotten the meaning of the word.” She looks up at him. “We all have different reactions to death. But we don’t have to drink with ghosts forever. We can celebrate.” A sly look comes over her face. “Simon and Kaylee are.”   
  
He shakes his head, lips tugging upwards into a smile. “And how would you know that?”   
  
She leans back and sighs, eyes lifting up towards the ceiling. “I’m a psychic, remember.”   
  
He snorts and takes a swig, the drink going down smooth and easy this time. “So what do you suppose I do? To find this so called happiness, I mean?”   
  
“Can’t be thirsty. Gotta fix that.” She swings her head around to look at the door and then turns back to him. “Inara…” She lets the name hang in the air between them.   
  
He shifts in his chair, frowns and clenches his hand around the mug. “We ain’t, we’re not…”   
  
She reaches across and touches his hand, tenderness suddenly flooding her features. “Talk, sometimes. Just talk. Can solve all sorts of problems, soothes all hurts.”   
  
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t know how many talks you’ve been around ‘tween me and Inara, but I wouldn’t exactly call them soothing.”   
  
She squeezes his hand, smiles encouragingly. “Talk.”   
  
Out of arguments, he leans back, takes a sip, and slides the mug across the table to her. “Don’t tell your brother.”   
  
She smiles, surprise in her eyes, and picks up the mug to take a long drink, licking her lips with satisfaction as she sets it down and slides it back.   
  
“I ain’t ever gonna run out of surprises ‘round you, am I?”   
  
“I’d be surprised.”   
  
They share a smile. He tilts the mug back, draining the last drops before easing out of the chair, shaking his head to clear it as he moves away from the table.   
  
“Well, little albatross.” He sets the mug in the sink and turns back towards her as she rises from her chair. “What’re you gonna do to find your own happiness?”   
  
She stretches her arms wide, points her toes. “I’m going to fly.”   
  
He breathes deep. “Off you get then.”   
  
She smiles, drops a curtsy, and glides out of the room much the same way she came in.   
  
**  
  
As he finished his last rounds through the ship, he paused on the walkway outside of the shuttle, his eyes watching the tell-tale flicker of a candle through the hatch window, an indication that the occupant inside was awake.   
  
A feeling, though it could have been the whiskey warming his stomach, could’ve been any number of things, suddenly flooded his body and before he could stop himself, he took a step, then another, raised his hand and knocked on the door. 


End file.
